


The meaning of words

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Betaed, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bastian is bothering Lukas. Not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The meaning of words

**Author's Note:**

> First published on LJ on July 5th, 2005.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.

„What did Micha want, Poldi?"

„Oh, just the usual." Flippant, and Bastian groans. Does Lukas always have to be this infuriating?

"What, are you jealous, Bastian?", Lukas asks, raising an eyebrow and obviously enjoying himself too much at egging his friend along.

"You wish," Bastian snorts, flopping back onto his bed. Actually, he does _want_ to know, because at dinner, both of them had stuck their heads together and Lukas had almost-grinned that smile at Ballack. The smile that only belongs to him, Bastian, and he does know that this sounds extremely childish, not to mention stupid, but, well. Lukas only smiles like that at him. And that's it. And he wants to know what Micha said, what made Lukas do this. He had sat on the other side of the table, together with Basti and Andi and so couldn't hear them.

"Well, it was really just the usual. Micha wants to ditch the Fringser and shack up with me." This is delivered with such deadpan that Bastian is _that_ close to believing Lukas, but just seeing that shit-eating grin persuades him otherwise and he grins, "Oh, did Micha?"

"Yeah, and I'm thinking about it. You don't refuse your captain anything, do you?"

And as if he can't help it, Bastian immediately sees Poldi in Balla's arms again, the innocent hug from the last match transforming into something more sensual – Poldi's hand gliding under Michael's jersey, feeling the abdominal ripples, skating up to stroke the hard nipples, twisting them slightly and Michael just _lets_ him, head thrown back, burying his hands in Lukas' short-cropped hair, drawing him down, and Lukas lets him, too, complying and lowering his mouth to the nipple, licking over the white jersey covering it, and the friction of the damp cloth over the nipple makes Balla groan, and Lukas grins, his other hand sneaking lower to the ass, these beautiful globes, grippingsqueezing, and…

"Earth to Bastian. Really, it's a wonder you haven't jumped Balla on the pitch yet if you always have that reaction whenever I mention him," and doesn't Lukas sound faintly pissed off there?

Bastian grins, blushing. "Hey, it's your fault for saying such things. Me, I'm just a horny bloke."

"Michaelballackmichaelballackmichaelballackmichaelballa-" and then Bastian has covered the short distance between their beds and has closed Lukas' incessant babbling with his mouth, levering himself onto top of Lukas by sliding a leg between Lukas' thighs, feeling every little flex of the muscles through the thin cloth of their tracksuits, delving into Lukas' hotwet mouth, tasting the last faint traces of the pasta carbonara they had had this midday and the sweetness of the gatorade lingers there, too. But he's really not here to make a list of whatever Lukas has consumed this day, so he concentrates on more pressing matters, like the ones down _there_.

Lukas is replying to the kiss readily enough, sliding his hands into Bastian's gelled spikes, shifting his legs so that they're more comfortable in this position, allowing Bastian's other leg to slide in between them, too, and their cocks are touching, hardhot want rubbing against each other through the thin cloth, the friction delicious, and Bastian thinks he could keep up the slow rutting forever and ever, and he sighs into Lukas' mouth, feeling an achy warmth pool in his tummy, nervous tendrils extending all throughout his body, and he wants _more_, pressing down, but then Lukas breaks the kiss, turning his face away.

"What?", Bastian asks, raising himself up slightly.

"Ah – nothing. I'm just," and then Lukas smiles at him, a slight headshake, dismissing it – whatever it was – but something's dimmed in his eyes, the corners of his mouth not really curving up all the way, and he's sliding his hands down Bastian's sides, the fingertips gently circling his muscled back, spreading his legs a bit more. But although this is a gilt-edged invitation for Bastian to continue what he was doing, Lukas' behavior puzzles him and he wants to know.

He kisses Lukas again, sweetslow, taking his time now. Mapping the contours of his mouth, biting down on the full lower lip, he now drags it out, relearning every crease and curve, licking along the teeth, stroking Lukas' tongue slowly and his hand holds Lukas' face in place, the thumb smoothing over the faint stubble, enjoying the prickle, his senses filling with Lukas, with everything that he is.

The forward moans into his mouth and Bastian feels his fingers dig into his back, a slight thrust up into him, but not very forceful, not the full extent Lukas would've gone to, so this must be right, somehow. As the languidslow kiss continues, Bastian suddenly _knows_. No, he doesn't just know – he's got a fucking epiphany. He's almost grinning into their kiss, relieved, but he just smiles slightly, and he knows Lukas has noticed it, but probably thinks that it's just because they're about to do it, and well, they're going to do _something_. Something that Bastian has never done before.

He just hopes he'll be up to it.

He's the fucking number seven. He can do it.

And so he breaks their kiss, sliding his hand under Lukas' t-shirt, and he's so _warm_, and Bastian strokes his abdomen, his thumb caressing the breastbone, this slight indent that he's fascinated of, the faint fuzz like velvet. His mouth has moved onto that point behind Lukas' ear, tastingsmelling the aftershave and his own hair gel and Lukas' skinsmell, something that he can't just describe, hearing Lukas' heavy breathing, the hand leaving his back and sliding down, down into the waistband of his tracksuit, and Bastian's about to push back into his grip before he reminds himself that this is not what he set out for, and so he slowly lowers himself downwards, slipping out of Lukas' grasp. He hopes that the Pole won't discover what he's about to do too soon… and he grins, pushing the t-shirt farther up, the fabric bunching up under his chin as he's swirling his tongue in that dent right between Lukas' collarbones, not being able to resist the faintly salty taste in there.

He's now partly leaningkneeling over Lukas, resting on his one elbow, the forward laid out under him like a fucking buffet, take your pick, shuffle forward, mmm, this looks yummy, too, and then Bastian's mouth is latching onto the right nipple, and Lukas jerks upward, hissing. Poldi is sometimes too easy. Then Bastian shoves the t-shirt up, out of his way, catching Lukas' arms in it, not caring, and licks broad stripes over the nipple, flashes of his previous fantasy of Lukas with Micha appearing in front of his eyes and he has to snort slightly, the air gushing over the nipple instantly transforming it into a rock-hard state.

Lukas wriggles, goosebumps spreading out all over his chest, and after some very acrobatic manoeuvers he manages to slide his arms out of the t-shirt and pulls it over his head and then it lands bunched-up next to the bed. And then his hands are on Bastian's head, holding him there, and it isn't as if he wanted to go somewhere else so the Bavarian gets back to business, suckingscrapingbiting – just that bit, not too hard – and he can hear that Lukas has bitten onto his lips, the sucked-in breath an indicator, and his other hand is now caressing the other nipple, quickly bringing it to hardness, and then he blows and Lukas again shudders, and Bastian can feel the hard hotness down there throbbing, and it has to be _now_.

He scoots down the bed, pushing the sheets out of the way, trailing over Lukas' abdomen with his tongue, wetstrokes, delving slightly into the bellybutton, one hand on Lukas' hip, just over the waistband and he fondles the hard bulge, hotdamp in his hand, fitting into the curl of his fingers like they were made for each other, and Lukas bucks into it, groaning. Bastian grins, looking up and meeting darkblue eyes, heavy with desire, and then he quickly, before he has time to reconsider, lifts the elastic waistband over the bulge, taking the briefs with it. He has to tug to get them out from under Lukas' ass, and then they pool around his knees and Lukas wriggles, and then, with a little help from Bastian, the garments are flung across the room.

And there it is, thickflushed, raising from dark pubic curls, wetness covering the uncut head – it's the closest Bastian has ever been to Lukas' dick, knowing its shape and contours from countless jerk-offs and rubbing up against each other in the dark, or at least from a semi-distance, and so his hand curls around it again, feeling the familiar texture, slowly sliding the foreskin down, softvelvety, and then the darkreddish glistening head is exposed – now or never, and he closes his mouth over it, closing his eyes, and that's when Lukas screams, bucking up, thrusting into Bastian's mouth and it hits the back of his palate, almost sliding into his throat, and Bastian backs off, the cock sliding wetly with a smacking noise out of his mouth, gagging.

It had been _too_ much, too overwhelming, and then a hand is on his head, strokingpetting, and he can feel the slight shudder reverbrating through it, and "Sorry, sorry, but oh god, do it again, do it, please, Bastian, _please_…" Lukas sounds as if he's at the end of his tether, his voice quavering, and Bastian looks up, licking his lips, still tasting the exoticfamiliar taste, saltysweet, and Lukas nods in answer, a silent understanding passing between them.

So Bastian bends down again, but this time he's securing his handhold on the base and his other hand grips Lukas' hip, and then he lowers his mouth back onto the head, employing what he knows works on him best, swirling his tongue around it – he has tasted himself out of curiosity many times, but this is different, very much so, and yet it's strangely familiar, and then he sucks the whole head into his mouth, applying a bit of pressure, and suddenly a shudder runs through Lukas' thighs, the effort of holding back to thrust into Bastian's mouth again must cost him a lot, and from the corner of his eyes Bastian sees a hand clenching into the sheets, the knuckles turning white. Woah. Who would've thought… and he's now halfway down Lukas' cock, and – Bastian _loves_ it. Loves going down on Lukas, loves having his mouth filled by the thick hot hardness, his own cock pushing against its restraints, dampening his briefs, aching sweetly, and he loves tastingsmelling the musk of Lukas' groin.

He releases the tight grip he had on the Pole's hip, lowering himself further until his lips encounter his fingers curled around the base, wetting them with his drool, and then the tip of the head is in his throat and he tries to go further but stops when he feels the gag reflex and so he lets it slide out of his mouth, licking the thick vein along the underside and then it's just the head in his mouth and he sucks on it, his cheeks hollowed out, tracing the indent on top with his tongue, pushing against it and then – then Lukas finally loses it, thrusting up wildly, out of control, but this time Bastian knows it was coming, moving in rhythm with the thrusts and letting him fill his mouth again and again.

The din of babbled words fills his ears, Polish, and he knows that Lukas is close, stroking the fluttering abdomen, sweatyslick, and so he tries to open up more, consciously relaxing his gag reflex and then his throat is suddenly accomodating Poldi's blunt head. He swallows around it, knowing that this little trick will drive him over the edge and rightly so, he's answered by a desperate thrust of Lukas' and a loud yell and then warmsaltyness is hitting the back of his throat and he quickly draws back, not wanting to choke on it, but it continues to fill his mouth and his own cock jerks. He swallows, but he can't take it all, all this thick salty creaminess, underlying with a faint sweetness and it's uniquely Lukas, and now he knows why anyone would want to suck cock, it's crazyaddictivepowerful, and then he raises his head and his eyes meet Lukas'. The Pole looks truly and well fucked out, glowingexhaustedsmiling, a sweaty sheen glazing his flushed skin, loosening his hard grip on the sheets, raising one hand to Bastian's mouth and then he feels it wipe across his lips and the Lukas raises the whiteglistening finger to his own mouth and twirls his tongue around it, tasting his own come.

Bastian charges up, hearing an 'oomph' from Lukas as he's flattening him, crushing his mouth to his, sharing the aftertaste of Lukas' come, his tongue roaming his mouth, feeling sweatdrops breaking out on his skin, soaked up by the t-shirt, his hardthrobbing cock pressed into the juncture between hipbone and groin, the comesweat soaking the already damp thin fabric, and he pushes down, gruntingstraining, kissing him hard, desperate to rob Lukas of his last breath, and then Poldi strains against him, gasping – and Bastian, still dizzy from the wantdesire spiraling up in him, eases up. But then strong hands are grasping his ass, hindering any further movement.

"I like it when you get like that, Bastian," Lukas says, grinning.

"Like what?", Bastian says, confused. Lukas squirms under him, the hands grasping a bunch of the tracksuit, sliding it down over Bastian's ass, and then one of his hands edges in between them, tugging at the garments and Bastian lifts himself up and then Lukas just pulls it down to his knees and then the hands are back on Bastian's ass. Lukas shifts his legs and suddenly Bastian's cock is down _there_, and he draws in a breath, hissing, and Lukas' blue eyes draw him in, the flushed face setting off the striking color even more, the cleansharp sweat making him light-headed, and the glide of their muscles against each other is synchronized - just like how they're on the pitch, reading the other one's mind, seamlessly, striking to and fro, confusing the opponent and then they're scoring, scoring, scoring…

"Like _that_, big guy," smiling, and then Lukas is getting… limber, somehow, more relaxed, and Bastian nods slowly, the white crest of desire building up in him, soon to crash on both of them, soon – and crushing his mouth on Lukas' again, diving into the hotwetness, he strains up against him, his dick sliding into the asscrack, parting the cheeks as if they were Moses with the stick at the border of the Red Sea, and it's almost too much, the tighthotness, and hearing Lukas moan and feeling his legs tightening around his hips, the heels digging into the hollows of his knees, pushing the track suit further down to Bastian's calves, his half-hard cock filling against his stomach – hell, that's one of the best things ever to have happened to Bastian, fuck no, it's _the_ best thing, because now Lukas is gripping his sides, the ass cheeks clenching around his dick, making it quiver and throb and Bastian ups the rhythm he has found, slidingsqueezing into that wetwarm tightness, the clench holding him into place and it's so close and he wantsmore_more_ and Lukas apparently wants it, too, judging by his moaninggrunting, so Bastian reaches in between them, raising himself up slightly to have better access, cupping Lukas' dick gently before he trails down to its base, stroking it with his fingertips, collecting the precome and then his fingers slide past it to Lukas' balls, wrinkledwarmsweaty folds of skin, the globes hard, and the musk in the air gets stronger. He squeezes them gently, tugging slightly, and Lukas' fingernails are digging into his skin, another babble of Polish words erupting from his mouth and this is when Bastian knows that he has to hurry up and so he slips a – no, two fingers into the crack, pushing his dick out of the way, and when they encounter the furl, Lukas moans, and then Bastian just thrusts the fingers in, not caring about preparation, because they're too fucking _close_ and Lukas hisses, the pain audible in his voice, but when Bastian looks up at him, afraid that he's gone too far, he only sees a wild glint of desire in the Pole's eyes and the tongue sneaks out, leaving a wet shimmer on these swollenkissed lips.

And then Lukas is rocking updownupdown, hard, clenching around his fingers, apparently as much gone as he is, and Bastian can't wait now, not when the sweethottightness around his fingers is so good, almost _too_ good, and he slips them out, grabbing his dick and presses down, God, he was that _close_, and Lukas' hands slide down his sweatyslick back, until they're on his ass, ready to push him in – and then Bastian spits into his hand, smearing it together with the precome over his dick, hoping that it'll be enough because he hasn't got the fucking time to go look for the lube in his toilet kit in the bathroom, and then he positions himself and, with help of Lukas' hands, slides into him, a longslow thrust, and then he's up there to the hilt, and they're _connected_.

Like on the pitch, being Poldi'n'Schweini, the dream couple of German soccer, the Schweinski, and Bastian, his senses overwhelmed with the hottightness around his dick – he's only thinking with his dick now, like any other man, really –, not daring to move because he'd come in an instant, but then Lukas initiates the first push, and then it's all crashing down, the waves enveloping him in wildwhite foam, and he's losing it, the hardwetslapping of their bodies echoing in his ears, drowning out their moangrunts, and he crushes Lukas' mouth with his own in the exact moment he comes, whiteness blinding him and he loses himself into it, drowning, every atom of his body dissolving into it – and then everything goes black and he crashes back into this world, back on Lukas, in his arms.

He feels Poldi clench around him, once, twice, and then a great shudder shakes his body and Bastian feels warmspurts on his stomach, and Lukas moans into Bastian's mouth, his hands squeezing his ass tightly. Bastian knows that there'll be bruises – another couple of days spent showering with his ass to the wall, as the guys have already mocked him for quite some time the last time he turned around after a night when Lukas had been rather rough, speculating about his girlfriend's strength, but he doesn't mind, actually – he enjoys it, having a distinct mark of Lukas on his body, something more lasting than a kiss or grope or fuck.

After the last shivers have subsided from Lukas' body, Bastian raises himself up, wincing slightly as his now soft cock slips out. They're now quite a mess, but he doesn't feel like getting up and showering, tomorrow's another day, after all, and so he just shakes off the track suit that still clung to one feet and bends over the edge of the bed, his fingers snatching Lukas' discarded t-shirt, and then he wipes himself off with it. "Do you have to ruin my new Cologne t-shirt, Bastian?", Lukas moans, and Bastian grins.

"All for the good cause," and then the t-shirt hits Lukas on the head.

"Eww!" But Lukas also uses it to clean himself off, and then it lands on the floor of the room which now looks like a tornado went through it – dirty clothes everywhere. There's always room service, though.

Bastian scoots down and pulls the covers up around them, wrapping them in dry cool blankets that warm up quickly, tracing Lukas' shoulder in the course. The Pole grunts contently, burrowing a leg through his, entangling them, and his head comes to rest on Bastian's shoulder.

Settling himself into a comfortable position, drawing Lukas closer to him, Bastian grins. He knows that Lukas is smiling, too, and he doesn't even need to see him. "Good night, Poldi," he says, and it's immediately echoed by "Same to you, Schweini." Lukas sounds quite tired now and Bastian knows that good – no, make that fucking excellent – sex equals a very sleepy Lukas and so he just burrows down under the blankets, getting ready to sleep, too.

But there's still something nagging at him and just when he wants to give up thinking any more about it – Lukas has already grunted, which is a sure sign that he can hear him thinking and doesn't like it one bit – he remembers it.

"Micha ditching Torsten?", he mumbles.

The arm thrown over him slides up, tracing his neck muscles up to his ear, softwarm. "Yeah, didn't you notice?", Lukas sighs, already halfway into dreamland.

"Oh," Bastian sighs, feeling rather stupid.

But then, he has got Lukas. Beautiful Lukas. In his bed. "Well, he better not be, because you're mine," he whispers, and somehow it's easier to say these words when it's dim, when he can't see Lukas – and then he hears Lukas chuckle.

"He was just asking about us, you know. If I did get along well with you and if you weren't bothering me too much."

Oh. And Bastian joins in the chuckling, and then it evolves into laughter, full-blown and soon Bastian has to gasp for air, holding his sides, ohsogoodhurting, and they just have to look at each other to bend over again, howling. But as they're rather tired now, it doesn't take long until they're back to chuckling, lying side by side.

"Well, am I?"

"Bothering me? Oh, yes. Totally." And then Lukas turns, grinning at him.

"But I wouldn't want to have it any other way."


End file.
